


Kinktober 16

by YlvaUllsdotter



Series: Kinktober 2019 [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Dean Winchester, D/s dynamic, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Kinktober 2019, Mild Smut, NSFW, Nudity, Shibari, Smut-adjacent, Sub Dean, Sub!Dean, Submissive Dean Winchester, handjob, no coitus in this fic, sub space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 23:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YlvaUllsdotter/pseuds/YlvaUllsdotter
Summary: Dean thinks it’s only bondage, no big deal. She proves him wrong when she turns him into a work of art.





	Kinktober 16

**Author's Note:**

> Day 16 of Kinktober with prompt Shibari. I struggled a bit with this one (no pun intended). I apologize for nothing.

Dean sauntered into the bedroom, naked and still damp from his shower. His hair stuck out in every direction like crazy hedgehog quills. She had put on lingerie but nothing else and was arranging the yards and yards of vibrant green hemp rope on top of the bed. When Dean reached for it, she slapped his hand away.

“So what’s with this bondage thing anyway,” Dean asked, leaning against one of the bedposts, arms crossed loosely.

“It’s a Japanese art form,” she explained, most of her focus still on the strands of rope.

She had arranged the coils into five distinct piles - one large and four smaller ones.

“Sure, like anime,” Dean smirked.

“A bit older than that, but yeah, I suppose,” she smiled wryly. 

“So once you tie me up, what then?” Dean reached for the rope again, only for her to slap his hand away again.

“The bondage is the point, Dean. It’s making art with rope and a body,” she tried to explain.

“So you said. I still don’t get it but whatever. If it makes you happy, I’m game.” He spread his arms as if to say ‘here I am, do your thing’.

“And I appreciate that Dean, I really do. You’ve been so open about trying the things I enjoy,” she smiled warmly at him, stepping into his space and reaching up to brush a kiss over his lips.

Before he could envelop her in his arms and distract her, she stepped back and grabbed one of the four smaller piles of rope. She took his right hand and held it where she wanted it. When she released him, he kept his hand still, watching her. 

With deft fingers, she wrapped the rope several times around his wrist, making sure it was snug but not too tight as she went. Dean flexed his arm, making a fist and straining against the ropes. The length that was left after she was done she left hanging for the moment.

She grabbed another of the smaller piles of rope and Dean raised his other hand for her before she even asked. Repeating the process, she wrapped the rope around that wrist as well, watching as he tested it. 

“Take a seat,” she directed him, indicating the foot end of the bed.

Dean sat down, watching her. She grabbed one of the remaining two smaller piles of rope and knelt in front of him. Placing his foot on her thigh, she wrapped the rope around his ankle in a similar pattern to what she had done on his wrists. Again she left a long end hanging. 

“Hand me that?” She indicated the last smaller pile of rope.

Dean grabbed it and handed it to her, watching while she wrapped his other ankle. He flexed his foot, feeling how snugly the rope fit against his skin. It felt a little bit like a bandage, but also completely different. 

Standing up, she tapped the rug where she had been kneeling with her bare foot and nodded toward it.

“On your knees, right here,” she told him.

Dean slid off the bed and knelt where she indicated, waiting for what she would do next. She saw his hands flexing, clenching and unclenching in unconscious testing of the ropes. Or perhaps Dean just enjoyed the feeling of the ropes snug around his wrists. She pulled his arms behind his back, directing him to keep them about four inches apart. In that position, his shoulders were pulled back, his biceps and triceps tense under the freckled skin. 

Grabbing the long end hanging from his right wrist, she wrapped it around the left twice, then back around the right. The last of it she wrapped around the rope between his wrists, tucking the end inside. Then she repeated the process with the long end hanging from his left wrist. When she was done, his arms were held as securely as if he had been cuffed. 

Crouching behind him, she repeated the same process on his ankles but using the last of the rope to connect to the rope binding his wrists. It forced Dean to kneel back on his heels. His muscles strained against the ropes in vain. As skilled as Dean was, there was no way he was getting out of these ropes without access to something sharp. Looking into his eyes, she saw that he knew it. 

Her hands caressed his arms and shoulders soothingly, watching him relax. When he looked up into her eyes, she saw the first hints of Dean’s acceptance. Placing a soft kiss on his forehead, she picked up the final coil of rope. 

She began by draping the 25 feet of bright green rope around Dean’s neck like a necklace. Fingers working quickly and efficiently, she tied knot after knot, fashioning the length of rope into a harness that crisscrossed Dean’s torso. Strands of the rope wrapped around his upper arms, defining his muscles and restraining him further. Diamond shapes outlined his pecs and made a pattern down his chest and abs. Other strands of the green rope framed his cock and balls, going between his legs. A strategically placed pair of knots pressed against his taint and his asshole. She finished her work by attaching the ends to the wrist ropes. 

Dean knelt on the rug at her feet, his head bowed. His muscles were tight, straining from his limbs being forced into unnatural positions. The green ropes defined and outlined those limbs, turning the hunter into a work of art. Shoulders pulled back, chest thrust forward, he could have been a sculpture by Michelangelo or Donatello. He had stopped struggling against the ropes long ago, accepting that he was well and truly restrained. There was no more than an inch of give in any direction. 

She stroked her fingers along the muscles in his arms and shoulders and watched goosebumps erupt in their wake. Crouching in front of him, she caressed his chest, feeling the contrast of the rough hemp rope versus his smooth skin. Two fingers under his chin tilted his face up, letting her look into his eyes. They were unfocused, lost in the feeling of being so completely helpless at her hands. She knew he had only allowed himself to become so because it was her. 

Pulling herself together, she grabbed her phone and took a couple of photos that showed the play of light and shadow on his body, shadows highlighting and defining the shape of his straining muscles. 

When she set the phone aside, she knelt in front of him, leaning into his solid body. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her lips right next to his ear. Whispering praise, she reached between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. Starting out soft, soon it was hard and throbbing in her hand, his heavy breaths fluttering strands of her hair that tickled her back. 

Dean came with a drawn-out groan that vibrated through both of them. His come coated her fingers while she milked his cock, drawing every drop out of him. 

She waited until his breathing returned to normal before she moved. The whole time, she whispered words of praise, her free hand rubbing his arm and shoulder soothingly. It was enough for their first time. Maybe next time, if there was a next time, they could do more. There was this bamboo cane she had wanted to try out for a while.


End file.
